Jailbird
by Jlbrew29
Summary: MacLeod receives a call in the middle of the night...from a certain teenage pre-Immortal. (Set in season one.)


**Highlander**

"**The Jailbird"**

**Summary****: **_**MacLeod gets a call in the middle of the night—from a certain teenage pre-Immortal.**_

**Author's Note****: **_**Takes place in season one—Richie is eighteen years old. **_

**Warning****: **_**This story will contain the disciplinary spanking of a teenager. **_

**Disclaimer****: **_**Duncan MacLeod, Richie Ryan, and Tessa Noel belong to the creator's of the show. I just wrote this story for fun.**_

_**~Highlander~Highlander~Highlander~**_

Duncan MacLeod awoke from the middle of a rather wonderful dream…to the sound of a ringing phone.

His lover of twelve years, Tessa Noel, mumbled in her native tongue for him to answer it and then rolled over away from the sound.

Grunting, he reached over and picked up the receiver of the phone beside their bed.

"Hello," he answered, groggily.

"M-Mac," the slightly hesitant voice of Richie Ryan came through the receiver.

MacLeod's eyes flew open, and he glanced at the clock beside his bed.

It was three in the morning.

"Richie?" he asked, frowning. "Where the devil are you!?"

"Uh, well," Richie said, a very obvious note of nervousness in is voice. "That's kinda a long story, Mac…"

MacLeod's frown deepened. "How long?" he asked, dryly.

"Pretty long," Richie said, chuckling slightly. "Um, I kinda need you to come pick me up…"

MacLeod's hadn't lived four hundred years without honing finely tuned instincts.

"Richard," he said, using the boy's full name. "Are you where I think you are?"

He heard an audible swallowing sound.

"P-Probably," Richie said, hesitantly.

MacLeod's eyes narrowed to tiny slits.

"A place with iron bars and bad food?" he asked him, his voice deadly calm.

"Give the man a prize," Richie quipped. "He got it in one…"

From the sound of his voice, though, he was far from jovial.

MacLeod closed his eyes and counted slowly in several different languages.

"I'll be right there," he told him, sitting up in bed.

"T-Thanks, Mac," Richie said, clearly relieved.

"Don't thank me yet," MacLeod told him, seriously. Then, he hung up.

"Duncan?" he looked over to find Tessa staring up at him, concerned.

MacLeod sighed, pulling the covers back and got out of bed.

"It'll be all right," he assured her, as he pulled on the jeans, shirt, and boots he'd discarded earlier. "I'll go get him."

_And he'd better have one damn good explanation ready_, he thought as he got in his black T-Bird and pulled onto the road.

_**~Highlander~**_

Richie Ryan never would have thought there'd come a time when he'd actually _want_ to stay in jail.

But that's exactly what he wanted to do right then…stay exactly where he was.

"Okay, kid," the uniformed cop who'd booked him said, smiling. "Your dad's here to bail you out."

"My dad?" Richie frowned.

"Big guy, long hair, talks with an accent," the cop said, opening the cell. "Heads up, he looks seriously pissed off."

Richie felt his heart leap into his throat. "H-He's not my dad," he said, automatically.

The cop just grinned. "Then why are you sweating?" he asked him, chuckling.

He was an older guy and this wasn't the first time a teenager had been picked up for under-age drinking.

He'd seen that look before—the trepidation of facing parental wrath.

He had teenagers himself and he also knew the look of a seriously pissed off father.

Mr. MacLeod might not have been this kid's biological dad, but he clearly cared for him as a son.

"C'mon, kid, you got to face the music some time," he told Richie, giving him a little push towards the door.

"Easy for you to say," Richie grumbled, sourly.

This only seemed to make the grin on the guy's face widen.

They exited out into the main part of the police station…where Mac was waiting on him.

"H-Hey, Mac," he greeted the Scotsman, hoping he was wearing his most disarming smile.

Mac raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything. That was _not_ a good sign.

"He's all yours, Mr. MacLeod," the cop who'd escorted him out told the Immortal.

He was still grinning like the Cheshire cat, too.

Richie seriously wanted to flip him the finger at that moment.

Mac nodded. "Let's go, Richie," he told him, curtly. "Tessa's worried."

Richie winced. Tessa being worried wasn't a good sign, either.

Resigned, he put his hands into his pockets and followed the man out to the T-Bird.

"What about my bike?" he asked, hesitantly. The cops had impounded it when they picked him up.

Mac glanced at him over the top of the T-Bird. "I'll pick it up tomorrow," he told him, simply.

He then got in the car and slammed the door behind him.

_Yep_, Richie thought as he opened the passenger's side door, _I'm definitely a dead man._

The drive home was a silent one—until they got about half way, that is.

"You were drinking and driving," Mac said, suddenly, soundly completely nonchalant.

Richie knew from the calmness in his voice—the voice he used when facing Immortals—that he was seriously pissed off.

"O-Only a little," Richie defended, automatically. "I wasn't stone-cold drunk, Mac…just a little tipsy."

Mac gripped the steering wheel tighter—another _not_ so good sign.

It meant his normally enormous amount of patience was running out…fast.

"Justifying it doesn't make it right, Rich," Mac told him, still in that deadly calm voice. "Or legal…"

"It's not like I knocked over a Seven-Eleven," Richie grumbled, sourly. "The cop who pulled me over was just lookin' for someone to bust."

"Blaming someone else doesn't change things, either," Mac told him, cutting his eyes sharply at him.

Richie sighed. "I know," he said, hunching down further in the seat. "I'm sorry, Mac…"

"Sorry is good, Rich," Mac told him, his eyes once more on the road. "Sometimes, though, it's not enough."

After that, the Highlander didn't say another word.

Richie was left to wonder what his fate would be.

Had he finally tipped over the edge—the one where Mac and Tessa had enough of having a stupid teenager around…

He'd been dumped by plenty of families before…when he was in foster care…and those had never seemed to bother him.

So, why did the thought of leaving bother him so much this time?

_Maybe_, he thought to himself sadly. _It's_ _because this time you actually give a damn? _

_**~Highlander~**_

MacLeod pulled into his usual parking spot and then turned off the ignition.

He glanced over at the teenager beside him. He swallowed.

Damn it, he looked just so young!

Richie getting busted for trying to find out his past a few weeks ago had upset him, but not necessarily angered him.

If anybody understood wanting to know where they came from, it was him after all.

But this time?

All the possible scenarios that could have befallen the teenager because he'd been a 'little tipsy' flashed through his mind.

His heart tightened painfully.

Richard Ryan might have been an adult under the laws of this land and many others, but at eighteen he was still very much a boy.

A boy who was reckless, impulsive, and absolutely infuriating to say the least.

A boy who was also kind, caring, and highly intelligent (though he attempted to hide that fact more often than not).

And also a boy he loved with all his Immortal heart and soul.

MacLeod remembered being eighteen—true, it was over nearly four centuries ago—but even back then he'd been just a reckless and impulsive.

Of course, it had been okay for him to drink when he was Richie's age…

It probably shouldn't have been, though, given some of the things he and his friends had done when they'd been drinking.

But that was a different time…a different era…and yet he clearly remembered his father's method for sobering him up.

Yet, could he possibly do that to Richie?

Glancing over at the boy beside him and seeing his youthful face again, his resolve hardened.

This would be the last time the boy got busted for under-age drinking.

"When we get inside, go straight to your room," he said, causing the boy to look at him. "I need to talk to Tessa, but then I'll be in to talk to you."

Something flashed in the boy's large blue eyes, but it was quickly pushed away.

"Yes, Sir," he said, getting out of the car dejectedly.

MacLeod got out also and followed him inside.

Tessa was, naturally, waiting for them.

Despite the late/early hour, she was clearly wide awake and alert.

She immediately went and wrapped her arms around the boy.

"Are you okay, Richie?" she asked, gently. "Are you hurt?"

"Nah, Tess," Richie said, putting on his best disarming smile. "Some cop was just trying to get his ticket quota, that's all."

"Uh huh," the beautiful Frenchwoman said, clearly not buying it.

She glanced at her lover, who merely nodded.

"I need to wash up," Richie said, uncomfortable standing in-between them knowing they were both watching him closely.

He then did as ordered and went straight to his room.

"What did they say?" Tessa asked MacLeod, the moment the boy was out of earshot.

"His license is suspended for a month," he told her, wrapping his arms around her. "They confiscated his motorcycle, but said I could pick it up tomorrow."

She nodded. "He was drinking, wasn't he?" she asked, knowingly. "I smelled beer."

"Apparently the party he went to was a little wilder than he led us to believe," he told her, gently.

"Why did he not call us to pick him up?" Tessa asked, frowning deeply. "He should not have been driving after drinking."

"He shouldn't have been drinking in the first place," MacLeod reminded her, gently. "It's illegal here, remember?"

"Yes, of course," Tessa said, nodding. "What are you going to do?"

MacLeod eyes narrowed.

He remembered hearing his mother ask his father that once.

So he knew exactly how to answer.

"Make certain our bonny lad learns the error of his ways," he told her, kissing her gently.

He then strolled down the hall with purpose and intent.

Stopping at the teenager's door, he knocked.

"It's open, Mac," Richie told him, and he stepped in to find the teenager waiting for him on his bed.

He'd taken off his jacket and his sneakers, but nothing else.

MacLeod went and sat beside him on the bed.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke.

Naturally, it was Richie who broke the silence.

"So, how soon do I have to be out of here?" the boy asked, curiously.

MacLeod looked up at him, sharply. "What?"

Richie snorted.

"C'mon, Mac," he said, scowling. "We both know you're fed up—I don't blame you. Not like it hasn't happened before…"

MacLeod felt a fresh wave of anger course through him…but not at the boy.

This ire was directed at the system that he knew was responsible for making a young boy become so jaded and bitter.

"Richard," he said, looking him in the eye, "if I didn't already know why you asked me that just now I'd be even more pissed off at you than I am right this second."

Richie looked puzzled.

"Huh?" he asked, clearly not understanding. "You mean you aren't throwin' me out?"

MacLeod swallowed, filling a lump rise in his throat.

"Laddy," he said, his accent thickening. "There is nothing in this world that you could do that would make me send you away!"

"B-But," Richie stammered, not understanding.

"The only butt you need to worry about right now, Rich," MacLeod told him, pointedly. "Is your own."

Richie swallowed. "I guess you're pretty pissed," he said, quietly.

"You could say that," MacLeod told him, nodding. "They said they picked you up at one o'clock."

"Yeah, so?" Richie asked, somewhat petulantly.

"So, I seem to remember telling you that although you were free to come and go as you pleased," MacLeod told him, "that we still expected you home at a reasonable hour."

"I guess one in the morning doesn't count as reasonable hour?" Richie asked, grimacing.

MacLeod smirked. "What do you think?" he asked him, raising an eyebrow.

Richie sighed.

"I think my free time for the foreseeable future is going bye-bye," he grumbled, sourly.

"Give the kid a prize," MacLeod said, echoing his own words back at him. "He got it in one."

Richie smirked at that.

MacLeod might not be a hard-ass, but he certainly could be a wise-ass sometimes…

It took one to know one, after all.

"So how long am I in solitary confinement?" he asked, curiously.

He knew that he was legally an adult and didn't necessarily _have_ to abide by the Highlander's rules and restrictions.

He had options…not good ones, but they _were_ there.

The fact was, living with Mac and Tessa was simply the best option.

But that meant obeying their rules. He understood that…and respected them for it.

They weren't doormats, and they didn't let others walk all over them.

"A month," MacLeod told him, seriously. "Your license is suspended for that long so it's not like you'll be doing a lot of going, anyway."

"And my bike?" Richie asked, hesitantly. "The cops plannin' on holding it hostage 'til then?"

"No, but I am," MacLeod told him, grinning. "I'll go pick it up tomorrow like I said. Then, it gets locked up in the storage shed out back."

Richie sighed, but nodded.

"Guess it could use some down time," he said, quietly. "And an overhaul…"

MacLeod smiled at that.

Richie never looked on the dark side for long. He was definitely a bright side kind of guy.

That was one of the things he loved so much about him.

"It stays in the storage shed, Rich," he told him, firmly. "You stay in your room."

Richie nodded. "I'm grounded," he said, sighing. "I get it, Mac."

_Not yet you haven't_, MacLeod thought to himself, _but you're about to…_

He cleared his throat.

"There is still the matter of you drinking and driving, Rich," he told him, quietly.

Richie frowned. "I told you, Mac," he told him. "I was only—"

"A little tipsy," MacLeod said, narrowing his eyes. "You were still incapacitated enough to fail the test the policeman gave you."

"C'mon, Mac," Richie complained. "Even you drank when you were my age…"

"Yes, I did," MacLeod told him, seriously. "And yes it was acceptable and legal for me to do so. For you, however, it is neither."

Richie scowled at him.

"What was I supposed to do?" he asked him. "Call you because I couldn't handle a couple of beers?"

"Yes," MacLeod told him, sternly. "That is exactly what you should have done! I'd have come picked you up."

"Yeah, and read me the riot act no doubt," Richie whined, sourly. "Just like now…"

MacLeod nostril's flared. "You are on very thin ice right now, laddy," he warned him, seriously.

Richie snorted. "I'm used to thin ice," he quipped, smirking.

MacLeod stood up, his anger held tightly in check—but only barely.

"You just fell through," he told him, sternly. "Stand up."

Richie swallowed, suddenly realizing the seriousness of the situation. "W-Why?"

"Because I told you to," MacLeod told him, sternly. "Now, Richard."

Richie winced at the use of his full name. He hated it when adults did that. It always meant _big trouble_.

Standing up, he faced the Immortal squarely.

Unfortunately, Mac stood about a foot taller than him so he was still at a disadvantage.

He refused to look up at the man he considered to be the closest thing to a real dad he'd ever had.

MacLeod placed his hands on his shoulder.

"You could have killed yourself or somebody else tonight, Rich," he told him, solemnly.

Richie bit his lip. He hadn't actually thought about that…but he knew he was right.

A very strong guilty feeling wormed it way into his gut.

"I'm sorry, Mac," he said, looking up into the man's dark brown eyes.

MacLeod nodded. "Like I said, being sorry is good," he told him, "but sometimes its not enough…"

Richie shook his head. "I don't understand," he told him, honestly.

"What you need is an incentive," MacLeod told him, seriously. "A reminder that certain actions have certain consequences…"

Richie sighed. "Like being grounded for a month," he said, scowling.

MacLeod nodded. "That was for being out so late," he told him. "Putting your life in danger is a completely different thing."

Richie swallowed. He really wasn't liking where this was heading…

"What are you gonna do, Mac?" he asked, hesitantly.

"What parents have been doing to errant youngsters for centuries," MacLeod told him, quietly.

"You're not my parent," Richie reminded him, hollowly. Even as he said, he regretted it.

"Maybe not by blood, laddy," MacLeod told him, placing a hand over his heart. "But, in here, I feel like it."

Richie swallowed. "You mean that?" he asked him, wide-eyed. "You think of me as…as your son?"

"I do," MacLeod told him, gently. "I know you don't really see me as your father, but—"

"I do, too," Richie blurted, suddenly. "Uh, I mean…sometimes, I do…in my head, I mean."

MacLeod smiled. "But what about in your heart?" he asked him, curiously.

The question made Richie squirm a bit. He wasn't used to talking about his emotions much.

"Mac," he said, again looking the man in the eye. "You're the only real dad I've ever had."

"Ah, lad," MacLeod said, feeling his throat tighten with emotion. "C'mere…"

With that, he wrapped his arms around the youngster and pulled him close.

Richie was stiff at first, but then relaxed into the hug. It felt very good to be held like this.

He'd been hugged before, of course, but it was different with the Highlander.

He not only felt affection within the embrace, but also safety and security too.

It was an awesome feeling.

"But we still have to deal with the drinking, Rich," MacLeod told him, pulling him back a little bit.

Richie sighed. He was so hoping their tender moment would have made him forget about that.

But Mac's memory was alike a steel trap.

"What did you mean before?" he asked him, biting his lip. He had sneaking suspicion he already knew.

"I'm going to give you a spanking, Rich," MacLeod told him, firmly and clearly.

Richie wrinkled his nose. "Aren't I too old for that?" he asked him, hopefully.

"Do you know how old I was the last time my father took his strap to my bare backside?" MacLeod asked him, seriously.

Richie, of course, shook his head. Mac wasn't exactly forthcoming about his past, after all.

"I was twenty-five," MacLeod told him, smirking at his wide-eyed look. "I pulled a stupid stunt and he made sure I knew it, too."

Richie swallowed. "Yeah, but that was like four hundred years ago," he said, quietly. "Things are different now."

MacLeod laughed at that. "Not that different, Rich," he told him, seriously. "And this spanking is not negotiable."

Richie sighed, resigned to his fate.

"Y-You're not gonna use anything are you?" he asked him, worriedly. "L-Like your belt or something?"

MacLeod reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, gently.

"No, lad," he told him, soothingly. "My hand will do just fine for this, trust me."

Richie snorted. "Yeah, I bet," he grumbled under his breath.

MacLeod chuckled, but then grew serious.

"I'm going to sit down on the bed," he told the boy. "Then, you're going to lower your pants and bend over my knee."

Richie grimaced. "Can't I just bend over?" he asked him. "Ya know, like they do in school?"

"Got sent to the principal's office a lot, huh?" MacLeod asked, smirking.

Despite himself, Richie smirked at that. "You kidding?" he said, smugly. "The paddle had my name on it!"

MacLeod shook his head, sitting down on the bed.

"I'm not sure that's exactly something to be proud of, Rich," he told him. "Now, c'mon, pants down."

Richie sighed, but obeyed. He unsnapped his jeans and let them fall to his ankle.

"Over the knee?" he asked once more, hoping maybe the man had changed his mind.

"Over the knee," MacLeod told him, patting one leg. "It's tradition."

"Yeah, yeah," Richie grumbled as he lowered himself over the man's legs. "Leave it to me to rob someone so big on tradition!"

MacLeod grinned at that, but then reached down and pulled the boy's boxer's down past his butt.

"Hey!" Richie exclaimed, indignantly. "You didn't say nothin' about losin' my shorts!"

"Sorry, tough guy," MacLeod told him, seriously, "but I don't want to hurt your severely—so I have to see what I'm doing."

"Oh, man," Richie groaned, embarrassed. "Just get over with already!"

MacLeod narrowed his eyes at that.

"Need I remind you, young man," he said, bringing his hand back. "You put yourself in this position!"

With that, he brought his hand down with a resounding smack across the boy's bare behind.

Richie yelped at the surprisingly strong string that one swat caused.

And then it was followed by another…then another…and still another.

MacLeod remained silent, letting his hand do all the talking, until about the tenth smack.

Then, he started the lecture.

"Tell me why your getting this spanking, Richie," he told the boy, continuing to reign down smacks.

"Cause the justice system sucks," Richie blurted out, flippantly. "Ow!"

MacLeod targeted the lower part of the boy's bottom—the part used primarily for sitting.

"Try again," he told him, increasing his strength just a tad.

Richie hissed as the heat and stinging of his butt intensified.

"I-I screwed up," he admitted, wincing. "I drank some beer and then tried to drive home—ah, Mac, please!"

"Uh huh," MacLeod said, now alternating swats from one cheek to the next. "And why was this dangerous?"

Richie felt tears welling in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

He was eighteen freakin' years old, for crying out loud. He could handle one little…spanking.

"B-Because," he said, swallowing and wincing. "Because I could have hurt somebody…"

"And?" MacLeod asked, landing a particularly hard swat to that sensitive curve.

"And myself," Richie admitted. "I'm sorry, Mac, I really am! C'mon…"

"Almost there, Rich," MacLeod assured him. "Are you going to be doing anything like this ever again?"

"Um," Richie said, hesitating. "No?"

"Is that an answer or a question?" MacLeod asked, again targeting that sensitive sit-spot.

"No! No!" Richie answered. "No way in hell will I be doing something like that again!"

"Well, at least you'll try," MacLeod amended for him. "No body's perfect, Rich."

"Easy for you to say," Richie huffed, sniffling.

MacLeod rubbed his back gently. "Just a few more," he assured him, and then brought his hand down five more times.

These were the hardest of the lot and they drove Richie over the edge.

He could no longer hold back the tears. "Mac," he cried. "Please!"

MacLeod nodded, satisfied that this would be one reminder Richie wouldn't soon forget.

"Okay, tough guy," he told him, pulling his underwear back up. "Up you go!"

Pulling the boy up with him as he stood, the Highlander again pulled the youth into a warm embrace.

This time, Richie not only accepted the comfort willingly…he clung to it.

"Hurts," he moaned, as he cried on the Immortal's shoulder.

He didn't particularly care at the moment that he was supposed to be an adult.

At that moment he was simply a boy who needed his father's love and support.

"Yeah, I know," MacLeod told him, gently. "Dying hurts a lot worse, though. Trust me."

"I do," Richie said, looking up into his eyes again.

MacLeod felt his heart swell knowing just how much that trust was worth.

"I think its time someone was in bed," he said, reaching over to pull the covers back.

Richie, despite his aching behind, smiled at that. "Aren't I too old to be tucked in?"

MacLeod just looked at him and said, "Do you really want me to answer that?"

Richie thought a moment, but then shrugged.

"Nah," he said, stripping off his t-shirt.

Stepping out of his fallen jeans, he climbed into bed—wincing only slightly as his sore butt made contact with the mattress.

"Roll over on you stomach," MacLeod advised him, gently.

Richie did so, and he pulled the covers up over him. "Night, Mac," he told him, looking up at him.

MacLeod grinned down at him and then surprised him by bending down to kiss his forehead.

"Night, tough guy," he told him. "We'll see you in the morning."

"Tell Tessa I'm sorry I worried her," Richie told him, as his eyes started to close.

"I will," MacLeod told him, reaching out to rub his back gently. "Pleasant dreams, son."

"'Kay," Richie said, as he drifted off and his breathing became steady.

MacLeod stood up, staring down at the now slumbering youth.

"My bonny lad," he whispered, quietly. "What am I going to do with you?"

Chuckling softly, he went to the door and opened it.

Turning to light off, he headed down the hall to his own room.

"Everything all right now?" Tessa asked him, as he joined her once more in bed.

MacLeod smirked, pulling her to him.

"Everything," he told her, nibbling on her neck jus below her ear, "is cool."

Giggling, Tessa returned the favor and soon the two lovers were very much occupied with other…things.

There would still be bumps along the road, as they always were, but for now MacLeod's family was home safe and sound.

He had his lover in his arms, and down the hall his little jailbird was sound asleep.

All was right with world.

No Immortal could ask for more.

The End.

(A/N: I promise I _do _have longer stories in the works. Hopefully, I'll finish one soon. Please, keep reading. Thanks.)


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